


Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest

by lil_missb



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, PWP, Post-Episode: s03e24 The Divine Move
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_missb/pseuds/lil_missb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There is an emptiness inside her and, on the bed, Stiles sighs. For a moment she wants to just let him sleep, leave him in the peace he's been denied for too long.  She imagines watching him all night, as if it's enough to ease the gaping abyss inside her, close the yawning maw of grief and yearning and hopelessness that she can't fight off alone any more. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest

**Author's Note:**

> So instead of working on my other WIP I wrote porn. Oh well. I hope you like it. I tried a different style of writing for this one that my grammar check just hated, so please let me know what you think. The title of this work is a lyric from Florence + The Machine. The song is called Howl and I guess you could say it was inspiration. Unbetaed as always so all mistakes are mine.

 

Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest

 

Stiles sleeps deeply in the bed, dark blue sheets highlighting the pale of his face. In the moonlight, every inch of uncovered skin glows; hands, face, neck, the one foot hanging outside of the covers. His long eyelashes are dark smudges on porcelain, his lips dusty pale pink. Lydia stands over him, admiring in a way she's never allowed herself to before. But then tonight, she's doing, has done, many things she's never allowed herself to before.

The breeze waves the nightdress round her knees, a strand of her loose hair blows in her face, and she briefly considers shutting the window she crawled into, shutting the rest of the world out, nothing but her and the person she thinks of as her tether as much as she is his. Her bare toes sink into the carpet, the last bit of dew from the lawns clinging to the top of her feet. The trip didn't bother her. She's wandered farther wearing less.

There is an emptiness inside her and, on the bed, Stiles sighs. For a moment she wants to just let him sleep, leave him in the peace he's been denied for too long.  She imagines watching him all night, as if it's enough to ease the gaping abyss inside her, close the yawning maw of grief and yearning and hopelessness that she can't fight off alone any more.

She sets one knee on the bed next to his hip, pauses, waits for a reaction. When there is none, a hand is placed by his head and she hitches her other knee up to rest on the other side of him. She is settled over his lap now, knees bracketing covered hips when she gets a reaction. He comes awake, flailing a bit but not enough to dismount her. He is partially risen when her other hand rises, finger covering his lips, dusky pink and soft, in a shushing gesture.

"Lydia?" He mumbles around the digit, eyes narrowing in confusion and still soft and in awe of her. Looking to her as if she hung the moon, the stars, and the sun in the sky.

"Shhh," she says, taking in the sight of him. In that moment she feels like she can breathe in the love he feels for her, his faith in her. So she tries, she breaths deep, can smell the slight scent of his soap, sweat, and cut grass. She sighs, letting it take out the cold that has settled in her chest, been her companion for weeks. A poor excuse for a friend and a bitter reminder of the one lost.

She can feel the heat of him, the solid mass of his person. Her knees tighten at his hips and she grinds down on him, a new, more pleasant emptiness taking hold of her and throbbing in tandem to her heart, his heart as well maybe. He gasps, feeling the pressure of her pelvis on his, and her hand travels from his lips to his heart, to check its beat.

"Lydia, are you okay?" Stiles asks, ever concerned for her over him, always putting others first. Lydia can feel his heart through his t-shirt, feel the beat of it slightly raised, imagines that it beats for her, because of her. Imagines what she looks like to him, hair tousled, feet bare and damp, clad in only a white nightgown, and straddling his covered form. She imagines she looks like a siren, or a woman possessed. It wouldn't be the first time.

She wants to answer, reassure him that she is fine. But nothing is further from the truth right now. She's  _not_ fine, she's empty, grief-filled, lost, she's needy.  She  _is_ sure that she needs Stiles. She's sure that she hasn't felt any of those things to a lesser magnitude than she does with him right now. She's eased in his presence.

There is still the emptiness. The cavern that has taken up her chest. She doesn't know how to get at it, how to stitch it closed. But she remembers his arms around her when it was first born; after Aiden, after Allison. How it felt to have him wrap his arms around her and hold it at bay.  It's what brought her here tonight. What led her to make the surprisingly short walk to his house. The need to be wrapped in him completely. To be filled by him as much as possible. She burns and pulses for it. Needs it like air, like life. Her insides ache at the thought of it.

She tries to convey all this with her eyes, but Stiles is hesitant, unsure. Used to her sidestepping and ignoring his feelings and the connection they share.

"Stiles. Please." She breaths out and grinds herself down again, head falling back at the sheer pleasure brought on by the friction. Her words are breathy, lighter than air but heavy as stone, "I need you."

She can feel his heart jump under her hand, and he falls back to the bed with a choked gasp as she continues to ride him.  His sheets are cotton and soft on her thighs, and she can feel the shape of his hardening cock through all the layers; her underwear, the sheet, his pajama pants. Its maddening, too much and not enough. His fingers trail up her thighs and under her nightdress, leaving paths of sharp arousal to cut through her. Clever fingers pluck and pull and the thin straps of her thong.

They seem to exist forever like that. Caught in the in-between, layers of cotton keeping them incomplete while seeking, long nimble fingers dance under her dress, chest heaving and mouths moaning as they reach and claw toward the complete collapse of sense.

She is damp and dizzy with arousal, even more so when the world shifts and she is falling and spinning for what feels like forever. There is a sharp thud, a hand cradles her head, and carpet scrapes at her backside, exposed by her hiked up dress.

She registers that they are on the floor, she register that Stiles is looking at her, embarrassed and endearing, as if the fact that he got so excited and enthusiastic, he accidentally flipped them out of bed is going to lessen her want. It doesn't. It's so Stiles that it’s everything. It’s everything so the emptiness and coldness inside her is nothing.

There is less between them now, the covers left behind on the bed. Her legs come up on either side of him and she pulls him down with feet, and calves, and hands. The first touch of lips is like a bolt of lightning down her spine and she surges with it, feels her damp core clench frustratingly around nothing, and she whines. Her hands are everywhere and nowhere at once, skimming and pulling at clothes and skin without much thought but _more, more, more_ .

Stiles bites and sucks at her lips, and she feels it all shooting through her a thousand miles a minute. She flicks her tongue into his mouth and explores the taste and feel of it. Tickles the back of his teeth and tastes the lemony drink he must have drank ages ago.

"Oh God," Stiles manages to get out when she releases him to breath, and she is astonished and flattered that he chose to use his breath for that. His hair and clothes are a mess, despite all of Lydia's attempts he has remained still fully clothed.

Stiles is still trying to catch his breath, but she can't stand the separation. To stop would end her, so she pulls his face back and licks at his lips, traces them with the tip of her tongue, then captures the bottom lip, biting and sucking it into her mouth before releasing it with a pop.

Stiles dives back in, and it’s suddenly her mouth being plundered. His hips seek out friction, and rock into her, the beast inside her growing with the pressure, the wet sounds of their mouths and the dry sound of fabric rutting against fabric. She pushes at the waist of his pajama pants, uncovering the pale upper skin of his backside. Unable and unwilling to pull away enough to push them down further.

Frustration builds and she feels like a fragile husk of skin. She needs the emptiness gone, needs to be filled, knows it by the feel of his tongue in her mouth. Wants as much Stiles inside her as possible.

She rallies her strength and is able to push Stiles away long enough to tell him, "Fuck me. Fuck me now."

The sound Stiles makes is both terrifying and arousing. The rules of reality seem to shift and time is comprised of sounds and tactile feelings. A small rush of cool air as pants and underwear are torn off, then heat as he settles once again between her legs. The smooth glide of dexterous fingers dancing along her opening, then shoving inside her pussy, dancing and delighting at the sopping mess he's made of her. The beast inside her eases as he pumps into her with fingers, checking to see if she is ready. She moans, thinks she may beg at the feeling of him inside her, but it isn't enough.

The monster inside her roars and she can feel its scream in her bones as Stiles pulls out and away. She can see him reach his arm above them, to the dresser drawer and search around inside. Lust addled as she is she knows what he is reaching for, and the idea of having anything between them is terrifying and maddening.

"No," she says, grabbing his wrist and pulling. He looks down at her and she pulls him back to her, "I want to feel you."

He's smart enough not to ask if she's sure. She's Lydia Martin. Of course she's sure. Of course she's already taken precautions. His eyes seem to darken further in lust and Lydia feels him push her legs further apart, feels the head of him at her entrance. She angles her hips just so and with one solid push he is buried inside her to the hilt.

"Oh God! Stiles!" She arches her back at the feeling of being filled, the beast inside of her mewling at the pleasure. Stiles is perfect above and inside her. She can feel the residual burn of the carpet in her shoulder, the pound of her heart in her chest and echoing though her body, pulsing through her and down to where she grips Stiles' cock with her body.

Stiles pulls back, the head of his cock just barely inside her, before surging forward again. "Fuck." He gasps out, seems surprised at his own actions, at how good it feels, that this is actually happening.  He does it again. And again. And again.

It's perfect. It’s everything Lydia wanted when she came here tonight. The feel of him driving into her, hard, yet gentle at the same time. He goes deeper than Lydia thought possible, as if he knows what nothingness is inside her and wants to beat it back.

The room fills with wet sounds; flesh sliding and smacking against flesh. There are sentences and conversations made up of   _yes, harder, more, faster, fuck, oh god, please, please, please_ , and other unintelligible grunts and groans. And for the first time in weeks, Lydia can revel in the joy of feeling.

She feels the carpet rubbing her raw in places, feels the cool wind on her arms, feels the smooth cotton of Stiles' t-shirt bunched in her hand. But most of all she feel Stiles, inside her all the way. She can feel him in her heart and in her head, and it's amazing. With every thrust he pushes more of himself inside what she thinks is her soul and she can feel herself rising to some new terrifying height. She can feel Stiles bringing her there, can feel her body coiling tight in anticipation.

Then she is there and she is everything. She is a damn breaking, a tidal wave crashing to a shore, she's at the top of the highest mountain, and falling from the tallest cliff into the deepest ravine. 

Her body clings to Stiles as she convulses, and she can feel him shudder above him, feel him surge into her an convulse with her, their hips moving in tandem as their releases are wrung from them.

After she lays with him beside her. Both of them are still panting, sweaty, and missing key pieces of clothing. Both of them still on the floor in a pool of moonlight. She waits for the high to abate and the cold emptiness to return. Thinks that if it does, she wouldn't regret a thing tonight. It was worth it to get rid of it even for a little while.

She waits all night but when it doesn't return, when Stiles is a part of her for days, and weeks, and years later, she knows that when Stiles filled her that night,- body, mind, and soul,- there was no more room for the emptiness that once plagued her.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me some feed back so I can get better. Also follow me on [tumblr](http://lilmissb46.tumblr.com/).


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